Forth from his lips, prepared at all to rail,
Torrents of nonsense flow like bottled ale;
Though shallow, muddy; brisk, though mighty dull;
Fierce without strength; o’erflowing, though not full.”
THE STREAMS.
ARIEL’S SONG.
Come unto these yellow sands,
And then take hands;
Curt’sied when you have, and kind
(The wild waves whist),